


Deck The Halls

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Decorations, Don't copy to another site, Greg has terrible taste in Christmas ornaments, M/M, Mycroft loves him anyway, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 10:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17242385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Greg finds fresh Christmas decor. The results are not what Mycroft was expecting. But then he wasn't expecting to feel so sentimental.





	Deck The Halls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Antheas_Blackberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/gifts).



> Inspired by the decor in the Liberty Christmas shop and prompted by Antheas_Blackberry to write about it. :)

* I think you planned to be out of town so you could skip the shopping. –GL *

 

* Of course I didn’t. –MH *

 

* Bloody crowded. –GL *

 

* Why you bother I’ve no idea. –MH *

 

* It’s for the kiddies. –GL *

 

* Is there something you are trying to tell me? –MH *

 

* Nah, just yanking your chain. –GL *

 

* Well, perhaps later. ;) –MH *

 

* Mycroft Holmes! Was that an emoji? –GL *

 

* * *

 

Greg slowly worked his way through the Christmas Shop at Liberty. He thought if went somewhere posh he might find new holiday decorations that would suit his persnickety partner. So far everything was too glittery or ostentatious or ridiculously overpriced. Greg sighed. He’d had hopes since he found a set of pajamas for Mycroft and a rather whimsical Alexander McQueen scarf for Sherlock. Greg rounded the corner and stopped. Puzzled he backed up a few steps and stared. A smile grew on his face. Oh, he had the beginnings of a plan.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft exited the car wearily. His driver followed carrying his bags. He was two days later than he anticipated, but the fiasco that was the Trump administration had once again interfered with his plans.

 

Intent on getting him and the bags in the door, Mycroft was a bit surprised by the low chuckle behind him.

 

“I must say sir, that’s a good one. I’d not seen a wreath like that before.”

 

“Like what?” Mycroft lifted his eyes to the front of his door. “Oh good God,” he muttered.

 

“I’d like one myself. Can you tell me where you got it?”

 

“I’ve no idea, but I’ll let you know when I find out.” Or give you the one on my door, Mycroft thought as he finally opened the door. He relieved his driver of the bags and bid him good night.

 

“Gregory!” Mycroft called out. That wreath was ridiculous. They really must speak… His eyes fell on the hall table, which now sported a new candy dish with foil wrapped chocolates in the shape of… for the love of all that was holy.

 

Mycroft stowed his coat, left his luggage in the hall and ducked into the downstairs loo to wash his hands. Sweet Mary Mother of God! The hand towels were in the same “festive” theme. He knew he should not have trusted Greg to do this on his own. Sentiment made him weak.

 

He could smell food so Mycroft hurried to the kitchen. Mercifully it was devoid of decorations. Less happily it was also devoid of Greg. But there was a pot of stew on a low burner and a loaf of crusty bread waiting to be sliced.

 

Still hunting for his partner, Mycroft glanced in the dining room he noted a seemingly tasteful center piece featuring red candles and a small Christmas tree made of… no, no, no! He must find Gregory. Surely he was ill, delirious with fever.

 

The drawing room was the only space left downstairs and typically the one most decorated for the season. Mycroft steeled himself for what might be awaiting him there. He entered trembling slightly with fearful anticipation. “Gregory?”

 

“Mycroft! You’re home.” Greg smiled brightly. “I hoped to have this done. What do you think?” He left their small pre-lit tree he had been decorating to greet Mycroft.

 

“Gregory… Brussels sprouts?” Ornaments were scattered on the coffee table. A quick glance told Mycroft they didn’t bear closer examination.

 

“Natural greens with red accents as you like. And a little brown and white thrown in.” Greg’s eyes sparkled with delight.

 

“But… Christmas puddings?”

 

Greg’s smile dimmed. “You don’t like it.”

 

“No, it’s hideous.” Mycroft blurted.

 

“Oh.” Greg’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I’ll take them down.” Mycroft watched as Greg began to remove ornaments from the tree. The disappointment on Greg’s face was impossible for even Sherlock to miss.

 

“Wait.” How could he be so thoughtless? Mycroft scolded himself. Greg paused. “Give me a moment. I… I shouldn’t be too hasty. I’m tired and hungry. Let’s have our dinner. You finish and I’ll prepare our plates.”

 

Greg perked up. “Of course. You should see the finished work before deciding. You’ll love it. I know.”

 

Mycroft retreated to the blessedly unembellished kitchen. “Brussels sprouts,” he muttered. Brussels sprouts and Christmas puddings were on the door, the hand towels, the dining room table and the mantel! Of all the horrible holiday themes this one took the biscuit. Or the side dish, rather.

 

He sat the filled plates on the kitchen table. “For Gregory, I’ll just have to manage.” Mycroft muttered.

 

* * *

 

Greg finished decorating their small tree. It was pre-lit and so small it really didn’t take much time. He decided against the Brussels sprout tree topper. It looked like overkill. Greg set their traditional star in its place. Surveying his work, Greg liked what he saw. He’d hung fairy lights along the molding by ceiling. The mantel was decorated with garland and the “tacky” Victorian street scape he’d loved was still in its boxes. He thought the sprout theme was rather humorous, but his enthusiasm had taken a blow from Mycroft’s initial reaction. “Ah, well,” he murmured. He could pull out the old decorations for another year if needed.

 

* * *

 

They lingered over their dinner, each having a couple glasses of wine. Greg chatted about his week and the things he saw while shopping. Mycroft shared inconsequential gossip making Greg laugh with his astute and snide observations. After the dishes were done Greg bravely asked Mycroft if he wanted to see the decorations.

 

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft replied stoutly. He braced himself to keep an open mind.

 

Greg took him outside to see the wreath. Mycroft had to admit the sprouts mixed with the traditional evergreens and red berries were subtler then he remembered. The chocolates in the candy dish were tasty. It would be no hardship to get rid of them. Mycroft supposed it was only for a few days that he had to put up with the Brussels sprouts in the loo. If was it was too awful to face he could go upstairs.

 

“Right, so here’s the drawing room,” Greg nervously led Mycroft inside and then stood back to let him get the full effect.

 

Mycroft looked around the room. It looked the same as usual except for the Christmas tree now adorned with Brussels sprouts and Christmas pudding ornaments as well as a few of their more traditional ornaments for variety. The décor on the mantel was candles and a garland with Brussels sprouts and Christmas puddings. The Victorian street scene Greg usually set up was nowhere to be seen. Mycroft noted this with a small pang. “It’s very… intriguing. Almost charming.” Mycroft offered with what he hoped was a cheery tone. He’d been practicing it in the kitchen earlier.

 

“So… you… changed your mind?”

 

“About Brussels sprouts as holiday décor? Perhaps.” Mycroft lied uneasily. “About you, Gregory? Never.” Truth was easier to tell.

 

“Yeah?” Greg moved to stand next to Mycroft.

 

“Yes.” Mycroft put his arm around Greg and pulled the man against his side. His eyes strayed to the mantel. “Though, if I could make a suggestion?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Must we have sprouts and puddings hanging from the mantel? Could we put your Victorian street scene back up there again this year?”

 

“Really? I thought you hated it. Called it tacky.”

 

“I… It is, but I find it doesn’t seem like Christmas without it.”

 

“Of course, love.” Greg gave Mycroft a squeeze and let out a contented sigh.

 

* * *

 

 

Another holiday season was over and Mycroft was very relieved. He didn’t normally help Greg put away the decorations, but he was anxious to see them go.

 

He had already managed to misplace some of the more outlandish ornaments and sadly the candy dish had been shattered when he bumped into the hall table. He cut his hand picking up the shards, so a hand towel had to be sacrificed to staunch the bleeding.

 

The Victorian street scape, however, he lovingly packed away. Tacky though it was, Mycroft realized this year he was now attached to it. Sentiment. Bah, he thought as he closed the last box. But the thought caused him to raise his eyes to look at Greg on the ladder taking down the fairy lights.

 

Greg stretched out his hand trying to reach the last bit of the string of lights that had edged molding along the ceiling. He could just about reach…

 

“Gregory!”

 

Greg jerked back and gripped the ladder. “Damn it! Mycroft you scared me.”

 

“I scared _you_?” Mycroft stood below glaring up at his partner. “You were about to tip over.”

 

“I was not.”

 

“Were to.”

 

Greg sighed. He glanced down at Mycroft standing below. He looked deliciously casual. His button down shirt was un-tucked and his long arms now folded across his chest. The scowl Mycroft was wearing warmed his heart as much as a smile. Greg knew it was because he was loved. “Okay, how about you come up here and see if you can reach it? You’ve got longer arms.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Greg climbed down and stood aside as Mycroft ascended the ladder. He reached out, his shirt riding up. The last bit of the light string was easily captured. Climbing down holding the string he found Greg smirking at him.

 

“What?”

 

Greg shook his head and began to wind the lights up over his arm. A smile played over his lips.

 

“What?” Mycroft slowly fed the light string to Greg as he continued to wind it up.

 

“I could see up your shirt.” Greg remarked focused on his task.

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“You got some definition there.” He paused and cut a glance at his lover’s abdomen.

 

Mycroft blushed.

 

“Those workouts are paying off. You’re getting a nice V cut.”

 

Mycroft ignored the last comment. His cheeks burned. “Are you through?” Still holding the last bit, Mycroft gestured at the lights in Greg’s hand.

 

Greg looked at the bundle. “Yeah, just about—“ Greg reeled in the last bit of lights and moved closer to Mycroft. He stood chest-to-chest with the other man and stared up into Mycroft’s brilliant blue eyes. “Only one thing left to do,” he murmured.

 

Mycroft’s gaze shifted briefly to Greg’s mouth and his tongue darted out over his lips.

 

Greg grinned before cupping Mycroft’s head with his free hand.

 

Mycroft let himself be pulled into a kiss. He raised his hands to hold Greg’s face. Melting into the kiss he recognized sentiment brought him here. He may regret Brussels sprouts on his front door, but he’d never regret the love and regard he received from his partner. He was looking forward to kissing Greg more in the New Year.

 

FIN


End file.
